


Lean Harder Into You

by scholarlydragon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15.18 fix-it, AU, Banter, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean POV, English Professor Castiel, Friends to Lovers, Gay Castiel, Groping, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Pining Idiots, because it hurt me and I needed my own solution, more tags to come as chapters are posted, sassy!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29277732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scholarlydragon/pseuds/scholarlydragon
Summary: Castiel  Novak and Dean Winchester have been best friends for what feels like forever. Inseparable. Joined at the hip. CasandDean. DeanandCas. Everyone knows it. But even the most perfect of friendships must bow to the pressures of real life. The question is, can courage be found to fight against or work with the winds of change...
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. After-image Burn

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as I learned what happens in Season 15, I knew that I had to soothe myself and my Destiel shipper soul with an AU. I have borrowed dialogue from episode 15.18 since that part was the direct impetus for the story, but what happens will diverge quite heavily from canon events both in setting and consequence. Hopefully, it will be enjoyable. I'm certainly enjoying writing it. This story was a challenge to stretch my legs in more ways than one and I am pleased with the results.
> 
> With deepest and heartfelt thanks to my betas PhantomDingo, Bree, Alulah, and daalex.

It’s a weekend night and the apartment is silent. A definite anomaly.

Dean hates it.

It’s a reminder of what he’s losing, a reminder of what might never be again. Every beat of silence strikes sparks of the past, like after-images imprinted on the senses. Memories haunting every corner.

It’s not like he’s much of a noisy guy. That’s more of Sam’s speed than his, though neither Winchester brother has ever been all that much of a partier. The after-images aren’t benders or wild shindigs, raucous enough to get the neighbors pounding on the walls. They are quiet moments of friends and family and laughter. Every time he looks around the apartment, there are ghosts of what used to be. What will change tomorrow. 

Castiel.

Dean feels the weight of hundreds- thousands?- of days and nights spent with his best friend in this place, watching TV, drinking, laughing, by themselves or with friends, ribbing the ever-loving shit out of each other because if they didn’t, who would? Because they knew they were solid, couldn’t be touched, couldn’t be separated. They knew they had each other.

It’s been the longest running joke among their friends.  _ DeanandCas _ .  _ CasandDean _ . Never one without the other right behind and, more often than not, side by side. So different and yet just the same. Both of them prickly when out of their element, though they warmed to friends and family. Cas had taken ages to get to where he felt comfortable enough to let loose with Dean’s friends, always so withdrawn and aloof, as though the people surrounding him were strange creatures that he just couldn’t understand. Dean knew he had helped draw Cas out of his shell. He considered it one of his greatest accomplishments.

There’d even been jokes, calling them an old married couple, as though they  _ belonged _ together, like they fit so well together no one could imagine them apart. 

Dean remembered when he had first found out about it, Charlie and Sam caught mid-chuckle and looking at him as if they’d expected him to be mad as hell, to blow his top at them for daring to suggest that he and Cas could be anything more than friends.

Dean hadn’t cared. It wasn’t like their friends didn’t know he was a horndog. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen him with his hands on chicks and dudes. In full honesty, Dean knew that he could do much worse than Castiel Novak.

What  _ had _ hurt, though, was that Cas had gotten that confused look on his face that he always got when he didn’t quite understand a joke- poor literal minded bastard- but then chuckled a little and shook his head like the idea was just too silly.

Like the idea of dating Dean, of being with him, was too ridiculous to think about.

To cover the hurt, Dean had leaned into the joke, throwing his arm around Cas’ shoulders and smirking at Charlie and Sam, loudly announcing that any couple should be proud to have the kind of lasting power of Novak and Winchester.

He barely admitted to himself, and  _ certainly _ not aloud, that it had been in part to simply feel Castiel close to him. He definitely didn’t admit to himself that he wanted to turn and tuck his arms under that trench coat Cas always wore and hug him properly. 

Dean had squashed the admissions down even further when Cas had given him that small smile and confused head-tilt, and wriggled away.

Dean tried to tell himself that it was better that way. He knew nothing could separate DeanandCas. Except perhaps voicing how he felt. So, he had sworn to himself that he would never tell.

Dean sinks down on his couch and lets himself crumple, his head in his hands. 

He’s in love with his best friend. Has been for years. Even before he knew of the jokes that sparked pangs in his chest whenever he heard them, whenever he tossed back a smirk in response, whenever Cas got that squinty look that said he didn’t quite get the joke.

And now Castiel, the absolute bastard, is moving.

Dean had never bothered to consider that real life might be what separated the dream team of Novak and Winchester.

Remnants of echoing laughter seem to fill the apartment and he isn’t sure that he can stand it. But he has to. Not just because it’s his home and how fucking pitiful would it be if he had to move just because everything reminded him of Cas., but because it would be even more pitiful for him to have to tell his best friend that he can’t move, can’t follow what he needs to do for his career just because Dean is afraid he’ll collapse without him, that Dean will just fold in on himself and disappear without his…

Dean bites his lip as though that can stop him from even speaking the words to himself, but after a moment, he rolls his eyes and scrubs a hand over his face. What’s the damn point? Cas is leaving. Going just about as far away as he can without leaving the country entirely. There’s no point in worrying about his world caving in because he only admitted the truth to himself when his world was already on the precipice of a cave in.

_ His other half _ .

There’s the truth of it. Cas isn’t just his best friend, isn’t just his crush, isn’t just the guy that Dean would dearly love to kiss senseless if he could only get the chance. He is all of those things and so much more… and that means the closeness of  _ CasandDean _ is literal and Dean is scared shitless that there really  _ can’t _ be one of them without the other.

But there’s nothing he can do about it. Castiel is leaving, off to chase the dream of being a big deal professor, and Dean will be alone with only ghostly memories and his cowardice to keep him company.

A rapid fire knock on the door jolts him out of his stupor and he stumbles to his feet before the echoes of the knock begin to fade, heart pounding. Any other time, he would have just ignored it. He’s not in the mood for visitors. But that hadn’t been just any knock. The  _ rattat-tat  _ is Castiel. Always. 

Dean pulls open the door and there’s Cas in his trench coat under the yellow glow of the porchlight, holding a six-pack of beer and a box of pizza that perfumes the air with pepperoni and cheese and tomato, as though summoned by Dean’s thoughts. Such a burst of happiness fills Dean at the familiar sight of his friend that he can’t even bring himself to be exasperated at the confused head-tilt that greets him, as though Castiel is perplexed by the fact that the door opened at all. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean huffs a laugh at the sound of that familiar gravelled greeting, at how Cas still looks confused and like he’s at the wrong apartment. It’s so damn  _ Cas _ and that’s what he needs right now. To hell with the knowledge that tomorrow Castiel will be gone. To hell with knowing he might have to just suck it up and pine after his best friend for the rest of his life. There will be plenty of time later to kick himself for being a sentimental son of a bitch. For now, Cas is here and there’s one last chance to make those echoes in his place the sound of real laughter again, one last chance to be  _ CasandDean _ again.

“Hey there, Cas.” He steps aside and gestures grandly into the apartment with a flippant smirk (he’s fairly sure Cas would call it  _ insouciant _ ). “Come to make one last visit to Casa de Winchester?”

If Dean hadn’t been watching so closely, he might have missed the flinch as Castiel walks past. Dean frowns. Why would he flinch? Before he can ask, though, Cas has pushed past him into the apartment and the moment is lost.

Cas sets his cargo onto the battered table next to Dean’s cramped kitchen as Dean closes the front door. There is a strange tension in the air, as though the other man brought a fog in with him, and Dean frowns. Cas’ shoulders are knotted lines, clear even under his coat, and doesn’t turn to face Dean, staring instead at the cardboard top of the pizza box on the table. Dean ambles his way to the little dinette space, trying to figure out what’s going on. Castiel is naturally quiet- the man is a goddamn ghost on his feet when he wants to be- but this is something else entirely. Dean plucks up the beer and elbows Cas as he turns to stick it into the fridge.

“What’s up with you, Cas? I mean, if you’ve got a last few boxes you want help with packing, all you gotta do is say so. You don’t hafta bribe me with beer.”

“No, I’m, uh- finished with the packing,” Cas remarks, the rasp of his voice pulling the pit of Dean’s stomach into a bittersweet knot. “I wasn’t sure if you’d had dinner yet, so I thought some pizza might be in order. I seem to recall you saying once that pizza was never wrong.” Dean laughs as he sets the beer on the top shelf, pulling a pair of already cold ones for them from the existing stash. 

“I think what I said was that ‘ _ pie _ ’ was never wrong.”

“Pizza  _ is _ pie, Dean.”

Castiel’s voice has that flat yet faintly aggravated tone that Dean can never quite tell if it means deadpan sarcastic or irritated as fuck and he laughs again, almost giddy with the gift of another night.

“I suppose I can’t argue there.” As he shuts the fridge door, a beer in each hand, Dean can see Cas standing there, staring, a look on his face like he wants to gently dissect Dean. Which isn’t exactly unusual. Hell, if Dean had a dollar for every time he had caught Castiel in some kind of confused or intent stare or another, he would have been able to afford a  _ much _ nicer apartment. But between the flinch, and the tension and now the more-intense-than-normal staring, this is edging past normal Cas weirdness into weird Cas weirdness, and Dean’s just not prepared for that.

He expects Cas to look away. To maybe blush and apologize for staring. But Cas doesn’t. He shakes his head slightly as Dean sets the beers on the table, almost as though he needs to clear thoughts, but doesn’t look away. At least the intensity melts a little from ‘I want to x-ray your brain’ into something softer. Though Dean still can’t tell what Cas is thinking.

In an effort to clear the awkwardness, Dean coughs lightly and moves to open the pizza box, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees the pepperoni and sausage under the mozzarella.

“Man, it’s about time you got around to trying a pizza without all that rabbit food crap on it. You’ll like pizza better when it’s just meat and sauce and cheese.” Not that he would admit to trying some of Cas’ leftover ‘rabbit food’ pizza once or twice. Or more. He has an image to maintain and pizza with  _ leaves _ on it just isn’t part of the deal.

“Dean…”

He freezes at the sound of Castiel’s voice. There’s something in it, something choked off, that has Dean’s heart suddenly hammering at his ribs. Carefully, cautiously, he turns, and finds Cas looking at him, with that same stare, but it has changed once more, shifting from the softer dissection into one with so much emotion in his blue eyes that Dean’s heart aches.

“Dean, there is something I would like to be able to say to you.”

Brow furrowing, Dean gestures to him with one hand in a ‘go on’ motion before shoving both hands into his pockets. “You know you can tell me anything, Cas. Out with it.” He has no idea what could be going on, but it’s clearly something big. Why else would Cas be looking at him like that? If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think that Cas was about to tell him that he was moving away, but that’s ridiculous. He can’t move two places at the same time .

Cas licks his lips and Dean sees his throat bob as he swallows. Castiel looks  _ terrified _ .

“I wanted to be able to tell you, before I leave tomorrow- I wanted to be able to tell you how much you mean to me. How very  _ important _ you are to me.”

Dean shakes his head, a crooked smile on his lips, a practiced riff to ease tension. "What, you mean like as a friend? Shit, man, I've known that. Why d'you look like you expect me to hit you?" He ignores the disappointed twinge somewhere just below his sternum that wishes forlornly that he could have been important to Castiel as more than a friend. Now is not the time.

"No, Dean." Castiel's brows knit together in the most heart-wrenchingly earnest expression Dean has ever seen on anyone. “Time spent here, with you, with our friends… It’s been some of the most important of my life.  _ You’ve  _ made it that for me. But… I always felt like there was something missing,” He laughs, a note of incredulity in it as though he can’t quite believe himself. “I always figured that it was just a case of ‘the grass is always greener’. I tried to be content with my own yard and ignored that voice that said my true happiness was elsewhere. I always wondered what my true happiness could even look like. I never found an answer because the one thing I want... It's something I know I can't have. But I think I know... I think I know now. Happiness isn't in the having. It's in just being. It's in just saying it.”

Tears glimmer in Castiel’s eyes and Dean frowns. Something nags at the back of his mind. Something should be clicking, should be making sense, but it won’t quite gel into place.

He straightens from his slouch as Cas steps closer as though nearness can lend his words more weight, though he stops more than an arm’s length away as Dean asks, “What are you talking about, man?”

Cas shakes his head slowly, almost mournfully. “I know how you see yourself, Dean. You're destructive and you're angry and you're broken. You think that hate and anger, that's... That's what drives you, that's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. That is who you are. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.” 

The wetness in Castiel’s eyes overflows, a tear running unchecked down his cheek, and Dean’s heart stutters in his chest. He wants to comfort his friend. He wants to run. He wants to do a thousand things.

Castiel’s mouth tugs up into a smile that lights his face even through his tears. “Knowing you has changed me. Before you… I didn’t see much point in making friends. Much less keeping them. I was happy alone. I didn’t  _ care _ . But then you showed me what it could be like. You have such love for those that belong to you, and you-” Cas’ smile turns even more brilliant as another tear tracks down his face “-you made me part of that group. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you, about our friends. I cared about the whole world because of you.” He chuckles, the sound tearful and almost defeated, at odds with the praise of his words. “You changed me, Dean.”

Dean takes a step forward, goaded out of his frozen immobility at last, by the suggestion that his fucked up self could have changed anyone for the better, least of all Cas who, under the bizarre exterior, is one of the finest people it’s ever been Dean’s privilege to know, but Castiel isn’t done. His next words are a whisper, delivered with the same earnest sincerity, with that same look in his eyes that says he feels as though he is breaking his own heart by voicing the words.

"I love you."

Dean can only stare.

Of all the things he had expected to hear from Cas the night before he's set up to leave, this is pretty fucking far down the list.


	2. The Fine Art of Freefall

Dean is fairly sure that there are several acceptable responses to hearing someone say ‘I love you’. Top of the list being something like ‘I love you, too’. 

‘Good to know’ and ‘Thanks for telling me’ probably rank somewhere around the middle.

He’d settle for saying that last one at the very least. There’s a giddy place in the back of his mind that’s absolutely crowing and it only seems fair to voice some appreciation while he works his way around to that entry at the top of the list.

For now, though, he seems to be stuck on staring at Cas, mouth hanging open in an extremely undignified way.

For his part, Cas’ look of wary anxiety has faded to a strange sort of calm. For all the tears on his face, he looks as if he truly wanted nothing more than to say his piece.

Dean swallows hard before licking his lips and managing to croak out, "You what?"

Excellent job, Winchester. Superb.

That calm look doesn't fade from Cas' face and the only response that might indicate Dean's reaction is anything other than perfectly on point is a tightening of his mouth that isn't quite a brittle smile and a lifted eyebrow.

Dean flounders for words and gestures with a helpless sweep of one hand.

"I mean, not that I'm not flattered, but this is- this is kind of out of nowhere and you're leaving tomorrow..." Dean swallows hard and his heart does not clench at the words, it absolutely does not. "I'm just wondering... why now?"

Cas lifts one shoulder in a shrug and shakes his head. 

“I almost didn’t say anything.” His voice hitches, as though he cannot get the words out, and he heaves a deep breath, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, ruffling it even more. “I would have kept this a secret for the rest of our lives, Dean. But I couldn’t- I couldn’t stand not…”

Cas falls silent, tenses and bites his lip and Dean thinks for a moment that he will retreat. With a surge of panic, he takes a step forward, ready to stop Castiel from leaving. But Cas doesn’t leave, he doesn’t retreat, though he does drop his gaze and keeps his shoulders folded inward, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. His hoarse, quiet voice goes on, as if he has to get out all of his secrets before he's damned to the grave with them.

“I couldn’t stand the idea of leaving tomorrow and not saying anything. Couldn’t stand not seeing you ever again and you not knowing… I- I've loved you for ages," Cas whispers, his eyes closing, tears on his lashes. "I think from the moment I met you."

Dean swallows hard, his mouth dry.

Any time now, asshole. Perfect moment handed to you on a silver platter.

He _wants_ to say it. For fuck’s sake, hadn’t he just been _thinking_ it? Thousands of moments fly through his head. Time spent with Cas, his best fucking friend on the fucking planet, and he'd never known, never even suspected. All the time that he’d been pining for Castiel, somehow Cas had also been pining for him.

That reality settling deep inside him almost as though it could meld with his bones is what finally spurs him forward.

Because how can he be nervous or scared when it’s as simple as grabbing hold of Cas in this freefall they’ve entered and showing that he’s not alone?

Almost before Dean knows what he’s doing, he is crossing the short distance to Cas, reaching out, and his eyes fly open as Dean cups his face in both hands.

His thumbs are wet with tears as they brush over Cas’ cheeks, and Dean's heart feels as though it’s splintering. Not just from knowing that Cas is leaving- fucking _leaving_ \- in the morning and, God, this is fucking hard enough already, but all the wasted _time_! All the time that he could have been with Cas. All the time he'd been carrying his own flame, yearning for his weird-as-shit best friend, thinking there was no way to act on it and that he'd rather have Castiel as his best bud and hide his broken heart than ever see Cas' face twisted in pitying rejection. Better to nurse a crush than lose a friendship. Except, apparently he'd been a colossal fool.

"You’re a fucking dick," Dean rumbles, voice roughened with shock and emotion. There is a small part of his mind that is completely unsurprised that of course, Dean Winchester, emotionally constipated asshole, whiplashes straight for the bottom of the ‘I love you’ response list. Dean tells that part of his mind to go fuck itself.

" _Dean_ ," Cas whispers, staring at him, and he sounds as though he wants to protest Dean’s insult to his motivations. But, Dean shakes his head.

"Naw. I'm not done." His vision blurs and he can feel wetness on his own face and his voice shakes. "You're leaving. _Leaving_ , you shit, and you fucking lay this on me _now_ ? Now, when I've been so in love with you that I can't think straight for _years_?!"

Castiel's eyes go wide and he’s utterly still under Dean’s hands.

"You- you love me?"

Dean laughs roughly, the sound catching on the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

There it is. Right to the top of the list.

Castiel stares at him. Blinks. Whispers.

“I never dared to dream you might feel the same.”

The last of Dean’s indignant reaction fades, falling away at the sound of the forlorn hope in Cas' voice and he sighs.

"Same here," he mumbles, stroking his thumbs through fresh tears, shivering in a breath as Cas' hands come up to cup Dean's against his face. "We're a coupla idiots, aren't we?"

"I would say that is accurate," Cas whispers and Dean can see the ache in his eyes. “I’ve ruined things by waiting.”

Dean shakes his head, breath caught in his throat somewhere between a sob and a disbelieving laugh. “If anyone ruined anything, it was both of us.” His fingers stroke along the curve of Cas’ jaw. He can’t seem to drop his hands, the feeling of stubble under his palms and Cas’ hands over his seeming like anchors for his sanity. “But who says anything’s got to be ruined?”

Cas shakes his head, the motion strange with their hands basically holding his face.

“It’s the last minute, Dean. I know this, you know this.” He squeezes his eyes shut, misery etched in the lines of his face. “By waiting, I ruined-”

“Does this feel ruined?” Dean interrupts, soft voice tense, as he leans in. His heart is pounding. This might be a gigantic mistake. He might be better off just letting things be as they are. He sure as fuck doesn’t know how he’s supposed to get over the fact that Castiel fucking loves him if he _kisses_ him. But he cannot bear the idea of never knowing what Cas' lips feel like against his own. Cannot bear the idea that they might separate with only this miserable too-late declaration between them. He has no idea how the night will go, but he knows he has to do _something_.

Cas' eyes fly open in the moment before their lips meet and all Dean can see is _blue_.

The contact is brief and tentative. At the last moment, Dean second guesses himself. What if Cas doesn't like kissing? If he does, _how_ does he like to be kissed? What if he likes kissing but doesn't like kissing _Dean_? So he stutter-steps away from what he really wants (full-contact, tongue, hot and melty sinking-into-each-other kisses) and just brushes his lips over Castiel's with contact softer than a feather.

Cas' lips are dry and they twitch slightly under Dean's and he sees Cas' tongue dart out over them as he pulls back. Not far. Just enough to give Cas a chance to back away if he wants to. He can't seem to let go of Cas' face, though. His hands cup that stubbly jaw and he can't make himself let go. Not that Cas seems inclined to remove his own hands from over Dean's.

They stand, frozen, and Dean’s heart thunders in his throat. He’s certain that Cas has to be able to hear it. Perhaps he can feel it reverberating all the way through his body to his fingertips. Dean swallows, trying to force down the drumbeat of his pulse in his throat, unable to look away from those soft and earnest eyes.

" _Dean_..."

His name on Castiel's lips is an oath. Like a prayer. Like a man asking for a benediction he does not hope to receive and Dean realizes Cas is trembling. But as his hands move, finally releasing Dean's hands, only to reach up and cup one hand over the back of Dean's neck, fingers sliding into his hair, the other hand sliding over his cheek, Dean realizes that his own hands are shaking as well.

Fresh tears trace down his cheeks and his bluer-than-blue eyes are full of such emotion that Dean has to swallow back a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. How could he have ever thought it would be hard to tell Castiel how he felt? How could he have thought that he could keep this truth inside?

 _Happiness is in just saying it_.

No kidding.

"I love you, you ass," Dean mutters, voice thick, his fingers tangling into Cas’ hair. "So much that it _hurts_."

Castiel makes a noise then, an inarticulate yet eloquent moan of disbelief, and he darts forward, closing the distance between them, using his grip on the back of Dean's neck to pull them together.

Their lips meet with a crash that would be jarring if it weren't so perfect, if it didn't feel as though it could fuse them into one. Dean's heart thunders in his chest, in his ears, as he collides with Cas, their arms tangling. There is no time to stop and sort themselves out. Not when Cas is kissing him as though he needs no other sustenance than Dean and Dean himself is pretty sure he could switch from oxygen to pure Castiel and be quite content.

He opens his mouth with a throaty moan and Cas wastes no time in taking the invitation, licking gently into Dean’s mouth. He doesn’t go far, his caresses only just meeting Dean’s own tongue with a tiny flick, but the intimacy is enough to make Dean’s head spin.

Needing more, _hungry_ for it, Dean manages to extricate limbs enough to wrap his arms low around Cas' back under his trench coat, splaying his hands against warmth (even through his shirt, Cas radiates heat that Dean craves to explore) and pulling him even closer. Cas molds them together, bodies aligning with dizzying perfection and his tongue flicks against Dean's, enticing before retreating, and Dean takes the invitation with a moan of his own, tongue sliding to map the hard and soft of teeth and lips and tongue and the intoxicating flavor of _Castiel_.


	3. Conversational Tactics

Dean knows that, at some point, they will have to stop kissing. To breathe or something. They’ll probably have to stop touching each other as well. Probably will need food eventually. At the very least, they can’t keep standing in his cramped little dinette space forever. No matter how much he wishes they could, and oh how he wishes they could.

Right at the moment, though, he’s content to let that be a problem for future-Dean. Present-Dean is quite happy right where he is.

So long as where he is involves Castiel in his arms, his fingers tangling into Dean’s hair, letting out soft and panting moans into their kiss. Cas is edging closer and closer, as though he wants to press all air from between them, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed. Dean’s not about to complain. He has the sneaking suspicion that, if the feeling of Cas in his arms is removed, he might just stop existing, snapping out of existence from pure deprivation. He’s all for moving closer.

With an encouraging noise, Dean flattens his hand against Cas’ lower back and urges him forward the remaining, if infinitesimally tiny, distance.

Cas lets out a tiny, strangled moan into the kiss and shifts, his hips moving against Dean’s and suddenly, just standing there and kissing doesn’t sound nearly as appealing.

Dean’s body has been having the completely predictable response to being able to passionately kiss ( _ and be kissed by _ !) the object of his years-long crush. He’s not completely hard yet, but he’s well on his way.

So, it turns out, is Cas…

Dean’s cock is pressing against Castiel and a matching bulge is nudging into Dean’s own hip, thick and hot, even through cloth. 

Dean’s brain melts just a little.

Cas is hard. Cas is hard for  _ Dean _ .

Just that knowledge has Dean wanting to drop to his knees. Or drag Cas to the couch. Or to the bed.

A sudden flash fills his mind. Cas arching against Dean’s mattress, his hands hot on Dean’s skin. The grip of hot tight warmth, soft cries of pleasure spiraling like smoke into the night air…

Dean has no hope of containing the hoarse whimper of need that climbs his throat, just as he cannot hold back a roll of his hips, an instinctive motion to match the dark flare of his thoughts.

Castiel meets the motion with a shivering, inhaled moan and Dean breaks the kiss with a gasp. His hips roll again before he can stop them, hunger for more pleasure, more pressure,  _ more Cas _ , spurring him on, and Cas mirrors the motion.

“Fuck…” Dean groans over the top of Castiel’s whimpered moan. His fingers clutch into the back of Cas’ shirt as though it can grant him some sense of stability, and Dean lets his head fall forward, resting against Cas’ shoulder.

Strong fingers knead the back of Dean’s neck as though Cas can’t stop touching him, and he doesn’t move away. Dean feels the brush of lips on his cheek and the soft breeze of a laugh.

“Are you okay?”

The roughened tones of Cas’ voice drag smoky tendrils of lust around Dean’s spine. He shivers even as he chuckles softly.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

Cas laughs again, deeper this time.

“Do you need a minute to think about it? I can give you some space.” 

“No.” Dean’s fingers tighten further into Cas’ shirt, holding him in place. Cas hums questioningly and Dean feels his face heating in a blush. “Please. Don’t go anywhere.” 

The idea of space between him and Castiel is unbearable, even though it would probably help him to focus. Dean lifts his head and sees Cas watching him with soft humor in his eyes and a smile on his lips. His fingers comb gently through Dean’s hair.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean,” he whispers softly, “Not unless you want me to.”

_ Then never leave. _

The thought is fierce, almost dizzying in its intensity, and Dean’s breath catches on the lump suddenly blocking his throat.

Cas tilts his head, that smile curling his lips even more. It’s all Dean can do to resist the urge to kiss him again. He’s sure that he’ll give in- any moment now- but he holds back for the only reason he can possibly fathom being worth the restraint: Cas looks like he has something to say. 

“What do you want, Dean?” Cas asks softly and Dean huffs a laugh. He sighs softly and strokes his hands up Cas’ back until they curve just under his shoulders.

“Same answer to that as to asking if I’m okay. I have absolutely no idea.”

Cas rolls his eyes, the gesture full of fond irritation that makes Dean’s heart thump.

“Surely you can hazard some kind of guess.”

Dean, as usual, takes refuge in rakishness.

“Well, I’ve never told anyone I loved them before, but usually, at the point where I’d been kissing someone like we just were, I think I’d be trying to take things… horizontal.”

Cas laughs, his lips curling in that broad, unfettered smile that Dean loves so much, the one that shows teeth and gums and only comes out when Cas is really, truly happy. Dean’s heart clenches.

“Such a straightforward solution.” Castiel’s eyes sparkle and Dean wants to kiss him all over again. 

“I’ve been told I’m a straightforward sort of guy.” Dean shrugs with a lopsided grin. “Even though I don’t think anyone could call this ‘straight’...” Cas makes a noise that can only be called a giggle. Dean chuckles and gives in to the impulse to peck a kiss on his lips.

Cas laughs again and chases after Dean’s lips for a moment, stealing another kiss. “I do appreciate a no-nonsense approach. But-” his humor fades, “-I would not want you to do anything that would make tomorrow even more difficult.”

Tomorrow. Right.

The thought of it dashes ice water along Dean’s spine and threatens to douse all the lovely simmering arousal humming under his skin.

Can he let Castiel go in the morning? More importantly, can he let go while knowing he might never see him again, knowing that they had not given whatever it was between them its free rein at last?

Tomorrow will be bad. In all honesty, it’ll probably be straight-up awful. But that was always going to be the case. It'd be worse to know that he'd had a chance to actually show Cas everything that he meant to him and had let it go. To pretend that this hadn’t happened, that neither of them could feel the want in the other.

Dean lifts one hand and runs his thumb over Cas’ lower lip, his fingers over his jaw, as he mutters gruffly, “If you’re willing tonight, I don’t think I care about tomorrow.”

Cas’ lips thin to an unhappy line.

“Dean… It’s all well and good to say that now, in the moment. I don’t want you to regret anything later.”

_ In the moment _ ? Dean shakes his head incredulously. ‘In the moment’ involves both of them still pressed together, still more than half-hard, and Dean can’t help but notice that Cas hasn’t pulled away either.

He huffs another laugh.

“Cas, this moment might be all that we have.”

“ _ Dean _ .”

He lays a finger over Cas’ lips and shakes his head as he musters a soft, sad smile. “Tomorrow is gonna suck no matter what, but I don’t think I care too much about it right now. You already told me that you love me. You can’t tell me that doing anything else would make things  _ more _ difficult.” Cas is watching him, emotion overflowing in his eyes, and Dean has to swallow down the lump in his throat before he can speak again. “I would rather have the difficulty of remembering than regret that I did nothing. I don’t want to look back on this and say ‘I wish I had’, you know?”

Castiel nods.

“I feel the same way,” he says quietly, against Dean’s finger over his lips, and Dean’s heart thumps again, pattering against his ribs as though it wants to reach out to Cas. “I just… didn’t want you to regret anything about us. Ever.”

“Couldn’t,” Dean whispers. “Not ever.” He strokes his finger against Cas’ lips, loving the responsive shiver that trembles through the other man. "I want you, Cas.” 

Cas moans quietly and the sound goes straight to Dean’s dick.

“I want you, as well,” he whispers, looking up at Dean with those blue eyes. What else can Dean do but kiss him again. Well, of course, there’s so much more, but that requires time and damn it, they’ll get to it, but right now, Cas is still looking at him with those baby blues, eyebrows still pulled together in a puzzled frown like he can’t believe he gets to have what he wants and Dean vows then and there to do everything in his power to  _ make _ him believe.

Their lips meet again.

Dean wouldn't have thought it possible for a kiss to be more passionate than the ones they had just shared.

_ Fucking idiot _ .

He starts soft, intending to be gentle and reassuring, to maybe recapture the unfettered intimacy of before, but in a matter of seconds, the full weight of what’s happening seems to strike them both simultaneously. 

It's as though the acknowledgment of not just love but  _ want _ , of  _ attraction _ , has unlocked something in both of them.

Cas surges closer into Dean’s arms, their bodies aligning, and fuck if the feeling of Cas’ hard dick doesn’t light a fire inside Dean. He makes an incoherent sound, the noise swallowed up hungrily by Cas almost as though he savors the flavor of Dean’s need on his tongue, meeting it with a moan of his own, and Dean grabs Cas’ ass, a double handful as he’s been  _ aching _ to do for fucking years, and Castiel fucking  _ squeaks. _

Dean never would have thought that such a tiny sound could have been sexy. But the sound carries with it a world of need and surprise and it shoots straight to Dean’s cock and he knows he needs to hear it again and again, along with all of Cas’ other noises just like it.

As he grabs, Cas surges even closer against him, arms tight and grasping, hips impossibly aligning even more, his stubble rasping Dean’s chin. Dean can’t even bring himself to care about whisker burn because Cas is in his arms, his hands are on Cas’ ass, and Cas is reacting as though he will never need anything in life but Dean ever again, but he needs all of Dean right the fuck now, please and thank you very much.

Dean realizes they’re over-balancing right before it happens. He’s helpless to stop it, not least because it would involve separating from Castiel somehow, something which Dean not only doesn’t want to do, but is pretty sure is impossible with Castiel attached to him like a damn barnacle.

He takes a step back in an attempt to brace. Fumbles. Stutter-steps as Cas follows eagerly, and Dean knows they are going down.

They stumble, staggering together, and fall. Dean has just enough time to hope they are close enough to the couch. Castiel isn't small and hitting the floor under him will  _ hurt _ . But it turns out they are close enough and Dean's ass at least hits the arm of the couch and he falls back onto it, Castiel landing on him with nothing worse happening than some lost breath.

It has the effect of breaking the kiss once more, but Dean doesn’t have time to be too upset about that because Cas sits up on him.

Castiel fucking Novak is straddling Dean Winchester and not only is Dean certain that Cas has to be able to feel the hard cock under his ass, if he somehow missed it before, Cas’ own excited dick is well displayed.

The front of Cas’ pants is tented out, and the bulge is mouth-wateringly big. Dean stares, breath coming in short gasps as he tries to imagine his best friend’s cock from the shape and thickness of the bulge in his pants, when there is the sound of an amused chuckle. Dean’s eyes snap up to meet Cas’ gaze, his face heating guiltily.

“See something you like?” Cas purrs and he’s looking down with that same head-tilt he always has, except this time, he doesn’t look confused. He looks like he’s sizing Dean up, like he’s considering how to consume him first. Dean shivers. He’s hardly ever been on the receiving end of looks like that. He likes it. Especially from Cas.

Dean swallows hard, words flitting to his tongue, but dying unspoken as he groans long and loud, Cas shifting almost experimentally, carefully grinding his ass against Dean’s trapped hard-on. Dean groans, grabbing Cas’ thighs with both hands.

“Cas, you keep doing that, I’m gonna blow like a teenager and I’m pretty sure neither of us wants that.”

Cas smirks. “I don’t know. I think I might like knowing I made you lose control.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but then you’d have to wait for me to get hard again,” he grumbles, but Cas just regards him with a sunny smile.

“I am sure a clever individual such as yourself could find something to occupy our time,” he murmurs, but shifts himself slightly, sitting more on Dean’s belly than astride his hips, keeping some of his weight off Dean by lifting on his knees.

“Is that a challenge, Cas?” Dean smirks and tosses a wink as he smooths his hands over Cas’ thighs, his fingers drifting close to the  _ extremely _ obvious bulge under the fabric of his pants. "’Cause it looks like  _ someone's _ excited, and you don’t need to get me to pop just to get my hands on you. Or my mouth.” 

He lifts his gaze to meet Cas’ and the heat in those blue eyes seizes the breath in Dean’s throat and sends blood rushing to his cock.

“Yes,” Cas rumbles, and fuck how did Dean never realize just how sexy that intense stare could be, “It is absolutely a challenge.”


End file.
